


Epilogue to 'Moonah Ston'

by thechapwiththearms



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, Pining, Post-Canon, S01E05, admitting feelings, cap goes all soft for thomas, moonah ston, so much goddamn dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 06:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19204006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechapwiththearms/pseuds/thechapwiththearms
Summary: In which the ghosts all have a lovely evening together, but Thomas is left feeling a little empty.





	Epilogue to 'Moonah Ston'

**Author's Note:**

> as the title suggests, this occurs after the events in S1, E5 of ghosts :-)
> 
> not proofread, not beta'd, mistakes are my own.

It had been an unexpectedly beautiful night. Earlier that day, you see, the group’s hopes of appeasing Robin by performing his lunar eclipse ritual had been quashed when a disgruntled Alison had begged - no, demanded - that they stop. Despite the fact that the ghosts understood they had overstepped a boundary, they still felt admittedly crestfallen when she stopped them.

Thus, Pat’s idea was a stroke of genius. Gathered outside of Button House on an old couch, Mike, Alison, and the ghosts sat in comfortable silence, admiring the soft glow of the moon that Robin so valued. It wasn't often they felt at peace in one another’s company, so each one of them savoured the moment, slightly more aware of the others’ presence than usual. For once, even Mike felt their existence all around him, the love and appreciation practically radiating from the ghoulish ensemble.

\----

Once inside, all of the house’s inhabitants, living and dead alike, felt renewed, refreshed - that was, apart from Thomas. The lovelorn poet was perched on the windowsill as he so often was, sighing in lamentation of whatever feelings of affection had been plaguing him this time around. This, of course, was hardly an unusual sight to his fellow ghosts, who often knew better than to disturb him when he was in such a state, lest they send him off on an unlistenable hour-long romantic tirade. Somehow, though, the pain in his eyes seemed more profound than usual on this particular evening; there was something behind them that gave the impression of a deeply profound hurt, something more than his usual petulant upset.

This was the reason The Captain acted against his better conscience and tread gently towards the room in which he could see Thomas. Stopping before he reached the doorway, he surveyed the younger man quizzically, and almost felt as if he could share in his sorrow simply by looking into his eyes. The look on his face stirred something within The Captain that drew him towards the man he so often mocked, so often palmed off onto the others when he could no longer stand his querulous sulking. In doing so, however, he decidedly did not let on to the reason behind his intrusion. Edging closer, he started;

“Good heavens, Thorne! What is it? What could possibly be bothering you now, after all that?” He grasped for a harsher note, but the words came out softer than he had intended.

“If you seek to quarrel, sir, I’m afraid I will not indulge you. I’m of no disposition for your dramatics.” He, incredibly, did not detect even a hint of irony in the words he had just uttered.

“ _My_ dramatics!?” The Captain asked incredulously.

“Listen,” he stood up, “I know you think of my turbulent emotions as farcical. I am well aware of what you think of me; but, if you're here to pick fights, then I bid you goodnight, sir!”

Pushing past The Captain, Thomas made for the room’s exit, but the former interrupted;

“Thomas, no- that’s not- that's not what I’m here to do. At all.”

The figure in the doorframe, illuminated only vaguely by the moonlight spilling in through the dust-coated windows, shifted to face The Captain. For once, he was quite unsure of what to say.

“I just-” The Captain carried on unprompted, “I just want to know what could be bothering you so much. You know, it’s been a wonderful evening, and we’ve all gotten on unusually well as a group. Though, I… I suppose you have been uncharacteristically quiet.”

Thomas remained silent. His eyes flickered towards The Captain’s for a split second, and then away again. He was, however strangely, entirely unreadable.

“Are you alright, Thomas?”

Still nothing.

The Captain was not particularly skilled in the comforting department, but it felt cruel to leave the obviously uncomfortable man standing in such excruciating silence. Softening his countenance, intentionally this time, he walked to meet Thomas at his place nestled between rooms (he looked smaller than usual, stood beneath the high structure of the doorframe) and placed a tentative hand on his arm.

“Thomas?”.

“You wouldn't…understand.” He leaned into the touch almost undetectably.

“Try me.”

No further convincing required, the pair made their way back towards the windowsill, this time both settling into the small, though not uncomfortable, space. After a minute or two of gazing out of the window, looking up appreciatively at the moon as they had done not an hour before, and of Thomas fiddling restlessly with the fabric of his cravat, the slight man glanced back at The Captain, this time holding his gaze. 

When their eyes met, both men felt an unshakable feeling in their chests, and for a moment they felt that they would burst. Now, The Captain was well aware of his own _preferences_ , he had certainly held men in great appreciation before. Though, never once had he felt an affection so sudden, so unexpected, nor so profound, as that which he experienced sat upon the windowsill, face inches from that of a man whom, until that day, he had labelled carelessly as a hopeless case; a poseur; a pedant.

Before he had the chance to process this revelation, there was the unmistakable feeling of another pair of lips against his own. Unable to even consider protesting, he melted against Thomas’s touch, threading his hands through thick curls as the corners of his mouth upturned involuntarily against the younger’s lips.

After they had pulled away, Thomas beamed.

“Oh.” The Captain whispered.

“Oh,” echoed Thomas.

“Is that what you were upset about? Was it- was it me?”

“Y-Yes. I’m afraid it was, Captain. You see, Robin’s love for the moon, it's so pure, so unadulterated. Nothing stands between him and the object of his affection- well, nothing but millions of miles of sky. So, I began to think: my experiences of love, my affections, they're always so contrived, what with the wooing and all.”

“But you’ve never told m-”

“Precisely. Oh, Captain, I’ve felt nothing but love for you since I laid eyes upon you.”

A suppressed giggle.

“No, don't laugh! It’s a cliché, I know, but it’s true. Though, obviously, I have never been able to bring myself to admit my feelings because- well, for obvious reasons.” He gave a coy but perceptively genuine smile. “But, because of that, my affections for you have remained, for all of this time.”

“You mean to say you've loved me? This whole time?”

“You're put off. It's okay, I-”

Eyes suddenly shining with tears, The Captain quickly sealed them shut as he returned to kissing Thomas. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have missed this? They pulled away;

“Thomas,” he coughed out, “Oh, my Thomas.”

“Captain?”

“How could I ever be ‘put off’?”

“Well, we've never exactly been the closest of friends.” He cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

“I- I know. And I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. The enemy dynamic adds to the drama of it all.”

The Captain rolled his eyes affectionately and took a lithe hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to the fingers. He had never been the romantic sort, but right in this moment he couldn't have cared less.


End file.
